Smile
by ICanSeeYourFace
Summary: She walked around as if she had a personal rain cloud over her head. The Pie Maker decided he had to do something, something to make her smile again. Entry for the Coeur d'Coeurs Community Center fic challenge on tumblr. Oneshot. NedxChuck.


**A/N**: This was originally published on my tumblr as part of the e Coeur d'Coeurs Community Centre fic challenge. The prompt for the challenge was to use an inspirational quote and write a fic based on it. My choice fell on a quote by e.e cummings: _"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter"_. We always saw Chuck as the ray of sunshine, which gave me the basic idea for this fic. A little Pie Maker/Lonely Tourist fluff. Enjoy! :)

**Disclaimer**: I don't own. I'd like to think there would be more season of Pushing Daisies if I did.

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_Smile_

Ten hours, eight minutes and five-six-seven seconds.

The Pie Maker looked at his wrist watch, then peeked up at the girl named Chuck, the girl he loved to watch as she woke up in the mornings. Chuck, who was always so chipper and positive, full of energy and life (since this was her second one), walked around as if she had a personal rain cloud over her head. She didn't smile at customers, didn't engage in their nervous-yet-playful banter while baking pies in the kitchen. She hadn't even protested when Emerson asked her to leave a conversation about a possible job involving a cardiologist with an actual broken heart. Chuck had simply got up and shuffled off to the counter, mindlessly wiping it for dust that wasn't there.

As closing time crept up on them, second by ticking second, he decided he had to do something. He had not seen Chuck this... sad since her father died. It was a thought that instantly filled the young Pie Maker's heart with guilt, seeing as he had been the one to cause Chuck's father's death, and he had not yet told her. Furthermore, he had pulled her back from death, and as such, he felt it was his responsibility to make her second chance at life better than the first.

"Can you make sure the place gets locked up?" he asked as the always-chipper Olive Snook passed him by.

"Going somewhere?" the petite blonde asked, looking up at him.

"I... gotta take care of something," he replied evasively, instinctively glancing over to Chuck, who was standing in the kitchen.

It was a great cosmic joke that the socially awkward and aversive Pie Maker should meet up again with his childhood sweetheart. While other people frequently made him feel uncomfortable and he had a personal space the size of a small cabin, he wanted nothing more than to be close to the girl called Chuck.

Olive Snook didn't miss the quick glance, and tried to hide her disappointment.

The facts were these: Three years, five months, one week, three days and seven minutes ago, Olive Snook wished upon a star. She wished for the Pie Maker to notice her, to love her. The star had yet to fulfill the second part of that wish, for whereas the object of her affection did notice her (mostly because she made it hard for anyone to ignore her), the Pie Maker was not reciprocating her feelings for him.

The Pie Maker cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably before sneaking out the door, leaving The Pie Hole in the hands of Olive Snook. Although the thought of Olive and Chuck in the same room without any kind of buffer should have made him more than a little nervous, he could not waste time. He got into his car and steered it across town to a small shop that he hoped held the key to Chuck's smile. He was delighted to find they had everything he needed, right down to the exact brand of mat.

As he packed everything into his car he pondered the odd twists and turns his life had taken since Chuck re-entered his life. He had not been lying about living a sheltered life. He baked pies, he occasionally (though more regularly since Emerson Cod found out about his power) woke people from the dead. He did not do spontaneous things. He was not a spontaneous person. Yet here he was, driving across town, spontaneously, to cheer up the girl he had loved since he was 9.

The Pie Hole was dark when he got back, indicating that Olive and Chuck had closed. He took great care to sneak up as quitely as he could to the roof, where he set off preparing his surprise for Chuck. He tried to recall every little detail as he meticulously fashioned a trip down memory lane, hoping it would elicit a smile or a laugh. When he deemed his work finished, he set out the final elements of the surprise, and quickly made his way down to the apartment.

As soon as he was inside, he automatically shifted into his now default position: straight as an arrow, hands clasped behind his back.

"Coming through," he called out in precaution, walking down the corridor.

"Marco," came Chuck's sullen voice from the bedroom.

"Polo."

The Pie Maker looked in. Chuck was sitting on her bed, hugging her pillow. The sight of her, so obviously miserable, tore at his heart, and he dearly wished he could give her a hug.

"What are you doing?" he asked, stepping into the room.

"I'm hugging a pillow."

"Where's Digby?"

"Olive took him for a walk."

Since Chuck couldn't hug the Pie Maker, she had unceremoniously named Digby their proxy, a somewhat misguided choice, seeing as Chuck and Digby were in the same metaphorical boat.

"I have a surprise for you."

"Is it that you can hug me now? 'Cause I really need a hug, and Digby's not here."

The Pie Maker wished she hadn't said that, because even though his surprise was good, it was not on the same level as an emotional Heimlich. He squirmed awkwardly.

"No," he admitted, scratching his head, "but it's still good."

He waited, looking at her expectantly. Chuck eyed him in turn, trying to decipher the expression on the Pie Maker's face. Finding her powers of observation slightly impaired by her current state of ennui, she got up from her bed and walked over to him.

"Lead the way."

He gave her an excited smile, and scurried off, almost running. Chuck had a hard time keeping up with him, his long legs taking the stairs two or three at a time. He stopped by the door leading to the rooftop and waited for her to catch up.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his face now serious.

"Of course," she replied, finding the question odd.

"Then I need you to close your eyes. Don't peek. Just listen to me. Can you do that?"

"I... Yeah. Sure."

Chuck promptly closed her eyes, and she heard him open the steel door.

"Okay, keep your eyes closed. Walk through the door, and mind the doorstep."

Taking a furtive step, she traced the floor with the sole of her foot until she felt it bump into the doorstep. She pulled up her knees, awkwardly stepping through the door as if stepping over a hurdle.

"Good, good. Okay, wait here, I'll be right back. Don't peek."

She heard him walk off, only to return seconds later before she even had time to consider peeking.

"I'm going to put something on your head. Don't be afraid, and don't..."

"I won't look," she finished the sentence for him.

Something was placed on her head, and she could tell he took great care not to touch a single hair on her head. Whatever it was that was now perched on her head, it smelled of rubber, and had something dangling down the sides of her face. It teased something at the edge of her memory, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was.

"Are you ready?"

Chuck nodded, and whatever was on her head bobbed a little.

"Open your eyes."

She did as he said, blinking a couple of times to adjust her eyes to the dusky evening. The sight that met her made her speechless, and she knew at once why the scent of rubber was so familiar.

"You built our play-doh village?"

Chuck's voice changed instantly from sad to surprised as she took in the sight of the replica created for her. The streets were the same, there were houses made from the cardboard boxes the costumes had come in, and scattered among the houses were little play-doh people, just waiting to be smashed to pulp.

"I did," the Pie Maker affirmed. Just as Chuck wore the dinosaur head-helmet, he donned the headgear for the giant monster parrot he had been when they were 9. "The rest of the costume is there if you want to..."

"Where did you get all of this?"

"Um... The Play-Doh Fun Factory." It was supposed to be a simple statement, but her excitement and sudden question made his answer sound like one, too.

"That's still open?"

The Pie Maker nodded nervously and the girl named Chuck quickly made her way to the heap of unused monster clothing, strapping on the dinosaur claws and feet.

"Can I...?" She nodded towards the cardboard village and then turned to look expectantly at him.

He nodded, and Chuck attacked the village with fervor. The play-doh people in their cardboard village stood no chance against Tyrannosaurus Chuck as she smashed and crashed through it. Spurred on by her happiness, the Pie Maker adjusted his parrot head, and joined her. It was like being 9 years old again, playing together without knowing the woes life would eventually hand them. For a while, they were Ned and Chuck, monsters of Cardboard Village, a dinosaur and a monster parrot, and everything was good. When the first pealing laugh slipped from Chuck's lips, Ned felt as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders. Chuck laughed. Chuck was happy. Chuck was Chuck again.

When the little village had been sufficiently demolished, they sat down on the floor, backs against the wall. The soles of their shoes were sticky with play-doh, and their headgear filled the space between them.

"Thank you, Ned," Chuck said, beaming at him.

"You're welcome. Everyone should get to demolish a play-doh village every once in a while."

Chuck chuckled. "You really did me a favor. Today has not been a good day."

"Until now?" the Pie Maker asked hopefully.

"Until now."

The affirmation was all he needed, equal to the emotional Heimlichs Chuck spoke so fondly of. It was a feeling of triumph and a sense of being useful, a combination which never failed to make him happy.

"Good. I would've hated to prove e.e cummings right," he blurted out in reply.

"What?"

"e.e cummings. He said that the most wasted of all days is one without laughter. A day is not the same without you smiling and laughing. I would've hated for you to have a day without either, especially the latter."

The Pie Maker sensed that if circumstances were different, this would be an opportune moment to lean in and kiss her. Unbeknownst to him, Chuck thought the same. While they silently cursed the fact that there was no plastic wrap nearby, a star fell in the sky.

Chuck wished she would someday be able to kiss the Pie Maker sans plastic wrap and immediate death. The Pie Maker wished he would always be able to make Chuck happy.

Guarding their wishes with knowing smiles, the altogether odd pair left the demolished village behind, heading downstairs to the apartment with their hands clasped tightly behind their backs. As they went to bed, the Pie Maker found a new joy in having Chuck back in his life, in his apartment, in his room:

Watching her fall asleep with a smile on her face.

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**A/N**: Reviews help me battle my evil cold. ;)


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